


It's a long way now (to you)

by dragon_rider



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Romance, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:50:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragon_rider/pseuds/dragon_rider
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris doesn't want to, but he has to try. Has to, because the road he's been walking is a dead-end.</p><p>Forgetting Karl doesn't go as he plans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [In my heart is where you'll be](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1043863).
> 
> Fanmix: [You steal my heart](http://8tracks.com/allivegotleftismybones/you-steal-my-heart).
> 
> Apologies if this sounds slightly off from time to time. I'm not a native speaker.

> “... unrequited love does not die; it's only beaten down to a secret place where it hides, curled and wounded.”  
>  _Elle Newmark-T_ _he Book of Unholy Mischief._  
> 

* * *

Chris is doomed.

This isn’t a big discovery, really, but it hits him hard as he’s distractedly chatting with a drowsy Karl while cooking.

He’s making marinated fish with salad and Karl is of course telling him all about that time he was in Argentina shooting a movie and how he learned this fantastic way of frying fish— _frying isn’t healthy, Karl_ , he teases even though he doesn’t care but it’s perfect, because Karl retaliates with a _oh, I’m sorry, are you eating soy burgers now? Because if you’re not I’ve got some bad news for you, mate—_ and Chris has not only managed to make him _promise_ he’ll make it for him next time they see each other, but has also admitted that yes, he misses him.

 _I can’t wait, I just miss you._ It rushes past his lips without permission, sudden and heartfelt and so fucking pathetic he almost ends up punching himself in the face.

There’s this agonizing moment in which he holds his breath, wincing and cursing himself to all kinds of Hell because _what the fuck_ —what the fuck is he doing? That didn’t sound platonic at all. What is he supposed to tell Karl now? Is his secret, his big gay crush on the most loveable geek that has ever walked the Earth, out?

He should’ve thrown a ‘man’ or a ‘buddy’ in there, he knows it, but he didn’t and now it’s too late and honestly? With how unbelievably earnest he sounded, it wasn’t going to help matters much.  He’d still be screwed.

He’s dizzy, clutching the edge of the island when Karl finally speaks.

“ _I know_ ,” he says.

It’s barely a whisper and it’s disjointed by things Chris can’t identify. He thinks it’s probably panic—because yeah, Karl has to be stunned about one of his friends being fucking smitten with him—and that turns him into a shaky mess. He drops the knife he was using to cute radishes and closes his eyes hard enough to see little flashes of colors behind his lids, wishes the ground under his bare feet could just split open and swallow him, that it could end with his misery, quick and clean.

He did it. He ruined everything. Karl knows and—oh God, he _knows_ —for how long has he been aware of it?

He doesn’t realize he’s slipped to the floor until he hears his phone from above him. It’s a good thing his place is so quiet, because Karl’s words are so soft he’s just this close to missing them. “ _I miss you too, Chris. It’s been really hectic with shooting, I’ve lost control of my schedule, can’t remember the last time I slept a full night’s sleep._ ”

Chris could cry with relief. He’s just being paranoid, he hasn’t ruined things between them—yet, hopefully never. He stands just long enough to retrieve his phone from the counter and goes back to sit with his back against it, turning off the speaker and pressing the phone to his ear.

He heard so many things in that quiet admission. _Maybe I’m too old for this_ and _I miss home_ being the most important of them.

“You’re doing a wonderful job, Karl,” Chris reassures him, extremely glad they’re not face to face because he’s blushing. Karl probably won’t appreciate how hot Chris thinks he looks as John Kennex, but it’s something Chris is very much aware of, “The show is great. It’s a lot of work, I’m sure it is, but it shows. It’ll pay off, you’ll see.”  
“ _You’ve been watching it?_ ” Karl sounds surprised and slightly scandalized, but happy too.  
Chris chuckles, fully admits, “Of course I have. And stop it with the early middle age crisis, okay? You’re not old. Whenever you feel old, I can send you some pictures of my grey hairs. Zach says that works like a charm.”  
Karl laughs with him but he sobers up quickly. Chris wishes he didn’t feel so touched at how good Karl is catching his moods, how much he cares about certain things he says despite how he says them. “ _Don’t listen to Zach. He’s just jealous because the fans are calling you silver fox now._ ”  
Chris groans, scratching his beard and wondering if he should shave to avoid looking like he’s sixty. “ _Silver_ fox? Jesus, I didn’t think they were _that_ bad. Why did you guys let me walk around like that for all the press tour?”  
“ _Hey, hey now, it’s a compliment! I swear it is,_ ” Karl seems to be fishing for words and Chris almost dares him to find something that would make _that_ sound better, “ _You looked gorgeous. Stunning. You always do. I’m sure you can google yourself and see I’m right._ ”

Chris purses his lips, a hand pressed firmly over his mouth as if to physically force his feelings in. He’s not sure what’s pushing to come out, it’s a bizarre mix of delight and despair he’s sadly quite familiar with.

Karl has always been as generous with his compliments as he is with his touches. This isn’t new. It’s not the first time he’s called Chris gorgeous, but every time he does Chris just wants to die a little more because he can be handsome and the sort of smart-dork Karl seems to favor but he won’t ever be anything else for him, nothing more than just another goofy friend.

And that has to be enough.

Chris doesn’t let himself ponder why Karl chose to call him instead of someone else—his wife, for one.

L.A. and Vancouver are in the same time zone. That’s all there is to it.

***

“Christopher,” Zach says, his tone chiding but gentle, “We’ve talked about this.”  
“Yeah,” Chris acknowledges faintly, feeling like he’s watching the scene unfold from a great distance that somehow it’s still not enough to dull the ache in his chest, to stop him from tasting acid in his mouth, “I know.”

It’s nothing big. He’s making it dramatic, but all that’s happening in reality is that his phone is buzzing and it just _won’t stop_ buzzing.

He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling like it could grant him strength. But of course it doesn’t and even though he’s not seeing his phone’s screen lighting with Karl’s name on it, he knows it’s him and his fingers twitch with the urge to reach out and answer, to pick up and listen to Karl’s voice—and that stupidly adorable accent that should be horrible but isn’t—just for a little while.

It’s been almost half an hour. It’s getting ridiculous. Chris thinks he’s ready to suggest a new type of torture if this keeps going for one more minute.

He squirms, traps his hands underneath his armpits. “What if he needs help, Zach?”  
Zach is lying down beside him but upside-down, mirroring his study of the ceiling for moral support, his hair brushing Chris’ temple when he huffs. “Then he’ll find it somewhere else,” Zach’s words are sharp, but his tone is patient, “Chris, I know this is hard, but even if he needs something, he doesn’t need _you_. You’re not hurting him right now, you’re doing yourself a favor.”

Chris resists the urge to curl on his side and wail like a baby at hearing that, mostly because by now? He’s too drained. And it’s not like it’s a newsflash, either.

 _He doesn’t need me, I know that,_ Chris thinks, _but I need him. And this isn’t helping. This is just me losing the one thing I can have with him, and for what?_

The easy reply would be to find someone who can love him back so he doesn’t end up alone for the rest of his life, so he can be _happy_.

And he should want to be happy, shouldn’t he?

It’s been months since he came clean to Zach and he’s been amazing, patiently waiting for Chris to snap out of his funk and get over their beloved geeky fellow, lending an ear and a shoulder and giving more reassurances than advises until he seemed convinced Chris wasn’t moving on like he was supposed to and that it just wasn’t healthy anymore.

Maybe Chris should’ve pretended he wasn’t—well, that he wasn’t as screwed as he really is.

It’s too late to back off now, though. Zach knows how much of a mess Chris is and he’s just trying to make it better for him, so Chris has no right to get angry and throw him out of his place and answer Karl’s call.

Sadly, that doesn’t mean it’s not _exactly_ what he wants to do.

He wishes he’d kept his fucking mouth shut. He loves Zach, he really does, but _this isn’t helping._ It feels so wrong he wants to scream himself voiceless, he wants to scratch his skin until there’s nothing left but burns and not this horrible itch to give give _give,_ until there’s nothing left of him that can hurt or feel anything at all.

He might have nothing but grey hairs after this.

“Right,” he intones dimly, the fight long since gone from him. A lone tear streams down his left cheek but Chris makes no move to wipe it, his world reduced to the noise his phone is making as it jumps lightly on the nightstand.  
“In the long run, you’ll feel better,” Zach insists, finding his shoulder and squeezing it, “Just hang in there, buddy, it should be over in a minute or two.”

Zach is right—for around 10 minutes.

It seems like Karl is an awfully persistent man, because an hour later he keeps calling with little pauses in between and Chris can’t handle it anymore. He scrambles for his phone, but Zach beats him to it and turns it off, shaking his head as he gives him a look that wants to be sympathetic but ends up being scolding as well.

Chris is _this_ close to screaming when his land phone starts ringing.

He already knows who it is.

Zach swears under his breath and disconnects the line.

Chris thinks about pleading, calling it quits and trying again next time, but doesn’t. He drops back on the bed, turns and closes his eyes.

He tells himself he wants to sleep.

***

Zach doesn’t have much faith in him but Chris keeps to his end of the deal and doesn’t answer Karl’s calls anymore.

If he doesn’t answer anyone else’s either or barely makes it out of bed and then back—well, he figures he has the right to have an adaptation period.

He’s not even wallowing.

He’s just so tired, so tired he doesn’t even dream.

***

It’s like his bed is an in-between place in which time doesn’t pass. Chris never grasps how much he’s out but he doesn’t smell bad or sweats at all, so he figures it can’t be that long. A day, tops.

Or three, as it turns out.

“Chris, please,” his sister pleads, hauling him out of bed and into the bathroom almost all on her own.

Chris blinks bleary eyes at her and squints, realizes standing up does not agrees with his head or the rest of his body and sits unsteadily on the toilet.

Katie makes him drink three glasses of tap water, slaps him lightly on both cheeks until he swats her hands away and shushes her out of the bathroom to take a shower.

He tells her what’s going on while they’re having dinner—rather, he speaks in between bites Katie practically force-feeds him—and he doesn’t make up excuses or lies. His sister deserves better than that, deserves to hear it even if talking about it makes Chris choke.

The truth doesn’t appall her. She doesn’t seem sad for him either, doesn’t pity him. She just looks worried sick and hugs him tight, rocking him back and forth in her arms, hushing him when he tries to assure her he’s going to be okay, cooing when he starts crying again.

“It's going to be okay, baby brother,” she soothes, “You're doing the right thing. It's going to take a while, but you'll get better. And when you feel like trying again, whether that is with a man or with a woman, I'm going to be right here for you, okay?”

Chris can't think about the future or where his sexual orientation stands anymore—and he's heard that unasked question before, from Zach, but he has no answer for it, not yet—about what he's going to want when this is over. The present is consuming him, seems never-ending.

 _Is_ he going to want something when this is over? Is this ever going to be over? The most positive answer he can find in him is a maybe.

He hopes things magically start to look up soon.

***

It doesn’t get any easier, after that.

It’s like something has been plucked out of him, something important, and even when he tells himself he’s ready—forces himself to be because yeah, he’s an asshole, but not that much of one—and starts answering phone calls and emails again, including Karl’s with the carefully planned delay and nonchalance Zach instructed him to play, he’s off, can’t seem to find his footing again.

He wants to go back and undo this— _this isn’t helping—_ but a part of him believes he’s just at the bottom of the pit and that he’ll start crawling out of it soon.

***

“ _I didn’t catch the name of your last girlfriend but I really hope she’s worth it, mate_ ,” Karl grunts one day. There’s a lot of noise and busy people in the background, it’s obvious he’s in the middle of working but he’s made time to call Chris almost daily anyway, “ _You’re not yourself and we miss you, you know. I miss you._ ”  
Chris smiles—a small, bittersweet thing. He wonders if he agreed to do all this despite of how wrong it feels just to get Karl’s attention, after all. He feels like an ass. “I miss you too,” he whispers, breaks the rules.

If he folds into himself on his seat in their—ha, good one, Karl and he have nothing because there is no _they_ , no plural, just Chris and his stupid, stubborn broken heart—restaurant and shakes, no one is paying attention to him. No one is there taking pictures. Karl won’t even know.

Oh, he won’t ever know.

“I have to go,” he says raspingly, “I’m sorry.”  
“ _Chris—_ “

***

He overhears Zach talking with Karl over the phone one night. Zach is in town for an audition and has come to babysit him for a while, to kill two birds with one stone, that sort of thing.

Chris doesn’t think he’s _that_ bad—or rather, he thinks he used to be way worse a few weeks back—but he must be because Zach actually let him win on Scrabble a while ago.

“Yes, I know,” Zach says, heaves a sigh so weary it makes Chris cringe, “I know he’s sad,” there’s a pause and Zach’s tone turns urgent. Chris doesn’t need to hear the other end of the line to know what Karl is suggesting, “No, no, listen, he doesn’t need that, okay? He’s not alone. You don’t need to come—“ Zach huffs. It’s minutes before he speaks again, his voice soft but firm, “Yes, I’m serious. Don’t come, go enjoy the few days you have with your family, man. Chris needs breathing space, not people hovering over him. He’ll be fine, trust me, just give him some time.”

Chris turns on the couch and pretends he wouldn’t enjoy Karl visiting him.

It doesn’t work, of course.


	2. Chapter 2

> “Sometimes you need to run away just to see who will come after you.”  
>  _Lisa Brooks._

* * *

In retrospect, he should’ve known going over their—there’s that adjective again, he can’t seem to stop himself—pictures for NOH8 wasn’t a smart idea.

He looks at each one of them on his TV—because his laptop screen isn’t big enough and he’s a big sucker for pain, apparently—enthralled by every little detail he didn’t have time to notice or appreciate before, like the contrast between his pale complexion and Karl’s even, tanned skin and the way he knew exactly were Chris’ back dimples were. He remembers how he scratched there lightly, enticingly, almost absentmindedly, how Karl just kept touching him in places he’s always been sensitive in like he knew every inch of Chris and his body by memory, how his hands fit everywhere perfectly no matter where they migrated to, how good they looked together, in each other’s arms.

He curses Karl for being a good actor, too, because he’d fool Chris if he looked into his eyes without knowing any better. He’d fool him if they were Karl and Chris in the pictures instead of two anonymous partners asking for something they shouldn’t be asking at all, something that should be a right for them.

He knew this wasn’t a good idea. That didn’t stop him. He wanted to go back to the moment when it all went downhill, when all the effort he put to keep his feelings in check for years went to Hell, ruined forever because he thought it could be—what? Liberating? To let go of his tight rein on them, if only for a little while.

“I love you,” he tells no one, fingertips hovering over the screen where Karl is smiling adoringly and looking at him like there’s no other place he’d rather be, no one else he'd rather be with.

Only, it isn’t Karl. And it isn’t Chris he’s looking at.

He sobs. The picture becomes a blur, but Chris can see it perfectly even when he closes his eyes.

He misses Karl.

 _Oh, God. Why can’t I get it together?_ “I love you so much.”

It was like giving permission to a hurricane to lay waste to his life.

He wishes he wanted to build something back from the ruins that are left.

***

Chris wakes up with a start and a cramp on his neck. There’s knocking on his door, soft but persistent, and he wonders why whoever it is—the list of people who can be by his door isn’t large so saying ‘whoever’ is an hyperbole—doesn’t chime.

He breathes through his mouth forcefully, thinking he really needs to stop sleeping on the couch. He should also stop sleeping so much.

He guesses he’ll stop doing it once the blurring of the days doesn’t comfort him any longer.

His hair is still a bit wet from the shower he took in the morning, but judging by his stubble he’d wager it’s late afternoon already.

He sighs and glimpses at the wood in front of him. He realizes belatedly he forgot his glasses on the coffee table. The peephole isn’t worth it without them, and only his friends or family could be standing outside anyway so he opens the door and his mouth to say hello—only to shut it again, not quite covering the gasp that makes it out.

It’s Karl. He’s right there on his doorstep, a big paper bag kept close to his chest with one arm and the other lifted to probably knock again, a concerned frown on his face that morphs to a wide grin at seeing him.

“Chris!” he exclaims cheerfully, wasting no time in hugging him with his free arm. Chris returns the hug clumsily, although he can’t say if that’s because of the bag between them or if he’s just too dazed or still half-asleep, “It’s so good to see you! You got me worrying for a bit, I’ve been out here for a while, thought your doorbell was broken or something.”  
Chris immediately feels bad. “No, it’s working. It was me who wasn’t working, I sort of passed out for a while and you woke me up. Sorry. Come on in.”

Karl doesn’t let go of him and maneuvers them inside like it’s nothing, closing the door with his foot. He doesn't mention or ask why Chris' cellphone is off.

Chris blinks at him. They’re close enough he can see his face clearly, despite of his short sight, and Karl is staring fixedly at him in a way that has him swallowing and tensing, not knowing what to expect.

He wonders how much Zach has told him, but figures if he’d made something up he would’ve let Chris know about it so they could at least tell the same lie.

“What?” Chris prompts. He hopes Karl can’t see right through him like his paranoia is trying to convince him he can.

The strength he always had to mask his feelings is conspicuous in its absence now and he feels bared and weakened without it, adrift in a sea of emotions that keeps lapping at him viciously to try and sink him.

Karl shakes his head, lets him go for one brief moment to drop the bag against the wall and gathers him back in his arms, holding him tighter than before.

Chris gasps again. He clings to Karl, hands carefully placed on his back, amazed he’s getting two hugs instead of one.

And two long ones, for that matter.

He must look awful.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Karl says quietly, breaking apart just barely, “I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”  
_You shouldn’t be here_ , is what Chris wants to say. Instead he mumbles, “It’s okay. You didn’t have to, Karl. I’m all in one piece, see?”

Karl’s concerned gaze doesn’t waver. He stares at him, unconvinced, and Chris can’t hold his eyes. He looks down, suddenly scared.

He’s supposed to be forgetting Karl and he’s _right here_ and _he won’t let him go_ —he’s still holding him by the waist, Chris dreading the minute he does—and he doesn’t have a contingency plan for this scenario.

Does this mean he’s back to square one?

Well. Tough luck. He doesn’t think he’s made much progress anyway.

He breathes slowly. It’s alright. He can start over.

At this rate, he’ll have to forget Karl until he remembers him all over again and go back and forth and back again and he won’t ever be done, won’t ever be over him.

“Aw, mate,” Karl says, thumb brushing his cheek before he bends slightly to pick the bag up. It’s a brief touch, over so quickly Chris can do nothing but blink, “She did a number on you, didn’t she?”

Chris sighs. A spike of anxiety ripples through him, but it’s a muffled thing that he can’t entirely feel through the exhaustion that pervades him.

He walks to the kitchen, expecting and hearing Karl behind him, and sits on a stool of the island, the one he uses when he’s not in the mood to eat in the big table of the dining room all by his lonesome which is—yeah, quite often. Karl takes off his jacket, hangs it on another stool and starts opening cupboards and emptying the bag he brought. Chris bites his lip and watches him sashaying in his home like it's his own. It aches, that easy familiarity he exudes, but Chris likes it.

“He,” he admits softly, so softly, can't seem to keep his mouth shut around Karl, “And he didn’t do anything. We were never together.”

Karl pauses in the middle of sorting his purchase, hand awkwardly halfway out of the paper bag. Chris can’t see him well yet—he can’t meet his eyes, can’t risk him seeing anything in them and he still hasn’t put his glasses on—but the silence feels loaded.

He closes his eyes, holds his breath. Panic greets him from the same distance that anxiety did and Chris is sharply reminded of that moment when he thought Karl knew everything, that he’d always known how he felt.

Did he just hand him the last bit of information he needed to convince himself of the suspicion he had?

“Sometimes it’s the things they don’t do,” Karl says at length, wistfully, though that doesn’t last long, “And in that case, I’d like a few words with this guy. My fists are especially interested in having a _conversation_ with him.”

Chris lifts his head so fast his spine pops. Rubbing his neck with a wince, he can’t help but gape.

Karl is obviously so pissed off on his behalf and if he knew—oh, if he only knew.

But he won’t.

“Don’t be ridiculous, man,” still, he smiles because Karl cares so much he wants to go all Dredd on whoever it is that’s making Chris miserable and that means a lot to him, “You can’t punch a guy because he doesn’t like me, are you serious?”  
“Oh, I’m very serious. Just give me five minutes with him and I’ll make him regret it.”

He does sound serious. And looks the part too, all the way to the frightening tough set of his broad shoulders.

Chris licks his lips. “Is that fish I smell?”

Not exactly subtle for a change of subject, but it works.

The fact Karl remembered and came to make good on his promise is touching. It was such a silly thing to ask. Chris thought he’d forgotten by now.

 _Sometimes it’s the things they don’t do_.

Why does he feel Karl meant a lot more than what Chris got with that?

***

Karl doesn’t let him leave his side for longer than ten seconds. He claims he needs all of Chris’ focus to teach him how to cook the dish properly. They mix the ingredients together, fingers and arms and hips brushing so much that if Chris didn’t know any better—but he does, he _does_ —he’d think Karl was hitting blatantly on him.

He never knows how Karl managed but everything is covered with flour and eggs and beer and oregano and whatever else the coating for the fried fish has that Chris couldn’t retain in his head by the time they’re done. He’s a little distracted by all of this—the close quarters, the attention, things he’s always gotten from Karl whenever they’re in the same room but not quite like this, not this keenly—and he decides, abruptly and greedily, that if this is Karl fussing over a friend in need of cheering up then wow, is he glad to be depressed.

His kitchen looks like a war zone and his heart flutters painfully every time he breathes deep, but it’s worth it.

***

Chris is about to start carrying the dishes to the sink—and damn him, but Karl is a mighty cook and it’s not fair his list of qualities never seems to stop growing—when he says a thing he thinks needs to be said, if only to smash the illusion of easy domesticity from the air because it’s driving him nuts and he knows he shouldn’t be feeling that at all.

“How does your wife ever let you anywhere near the kitchen? I think I’m going to be cleaning mine for the next two days. That can’t be nice all the time.”  
He realizes immediately his misstep with the way Karl tenses in his seat and replies quickly, “That’s easy. I don’t ask her, least of all now.”

He hurries to his side, mind set in squeezing his shoulder or patting his back or both and apologizing for being cheeky, but as soon as he’s within reach Karl just _grabs_ for him and snuggles against Chris’ middle, nose pressed firmly against his front, arms tight around his back.

Chris’ hands move on instinct, settling on Karl’s head and steadying him, fingers kneading his hair before he can think about what he’s doing. He feels Karl taking a long breath and pulling him even closer.

He’s so stunned he doesn’t even have time to pray Karl can’t listen to his heart jackhammering in his chest just above his head.

“Karl? What is it? Are you guys okay? Are _you_ okay?”  
“I’m okay,” Karl breathes, slightly muffled by Chris’ t-shirt, “Natalie and I—we’re not together anymore. It’s been a while since we have, so we decided to make it official. I got the paper stating I’m divorced a couple of weeks ago. Things haven’t changed much for me, but Indie and Hunter have a lot to get used to. I just hope we did the right thing for them.”

 _But you’re supposed to be happy with her,_ his mind roars _, You’re supposed to be happy!_

Chris wants to jerk back, dismayed at the belief he had being shattered to pieces, but Karl grips his right hip and stops him, so he just keeps his hands where they are, way too high for it to be a simple and friendly touch. And yet he can’t stop rubbing lightly and Karl doesn’t seem to mind how Chris' palms rest alternatively on his ears and neck as he does.

He can't believe Karl is divorced now. Chris never wanted this to happen. His eyes fill with tears that for once aren’t about him at all.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, voice frayed at the edges, and he _is_ —he’d give anything for Karl to get back the life he had with her, the life that he wanted and doesn’t have anymore.  
Karl shakes his head minutely, and speaks quietly. “It’s okay, Chris. We talked about it for a long time—filing for divorce if we couldn’t make things work between us again, because it’s better if the kids have two happy homes than a big, miserable one but—I wish there was a recipe for raising children without hurting them, that’s all. I know this is going to be hard on them.”  
“Hey,” Chris lets his fingers curl on Karl’s head firmly, willing him to listen, “It’s not okay. It’s your marriage you lost, Karl, the life you thought you were always going to have to get back to. This is going to be hard on _you_ too. You can hurt as much as you want to, as much as you _need_ to. That won’t make you a bad father, okay?”

Karl seems to relax at his words and ever so slowly loosens his hold on him a little. Chris looks down in time to watch him staring at the small tattoo on his finger and he doesn’t think—he can’t wrap his head around the fact Karl doesn’t have the ideal, perfect marriage he always thought he had—he just takes Karl’s hand on his and traces the heart with his thumb.

“This can be a reminder of the good times, Karl,” he suggests. Karl starts out of his own thoughts and looks up at him, eyes wide in astonishment. Chris hopes he’s reading him right, “You don’t have to get rid of it. It means a lot to you. Keep it, but don’t let it torture you. I’m sure you did all you could and more, too.”

Chris has questions he won’t ask— _what didn’t she do that hurt you? Do you miss her?—_ and he keeps petting Karl’s head, waiting for him to realize their position and retreat, even though that doesn’t sound like something he’d do.

He’s been especially touchy-feely today, even for him, so maybe this isn’t so weird in that context. Maybe this is how other friends comfort him and Chris just happens to be the one around this time. A divorce is a long and rough thing to go through, after all, and Chris has only found out about it now, which means Karl has been relying on other people.

The pain of knowing he wasn’t there for him—either because it was during the past two months in which Chris was too preoccupied trying to forget him or because Karl chose not to tell him until now—isn’t as muted as the rest of his emotions are but he pushes that aside.

Right now, it’s not about him.

Actually, it’s never going to be about him.

“You’ve done an amazing job with your kids so far,” he adds quietly, “And they’re smart. Trust yourself, and trust _them_. They’ll come around, if they haven’t already.”  
Karl sighs, squeezes one last time before letting go and stands up. He looks calm, somehow, and Chris focuses on that so he can calm down as well, breathing through tears that didn’t fall. “Thanks, Chris. I’m sorry for this. I was supposed to be the one cheering you up, not the other way around.”  
“But you did,” Chris smiles. It’s not the widest smile ever, but it doesn’t feel forced either and he’s grateful for Karl’s trust and tries to show that even if he’s crestfallen about what he knows now, “It was my turn now. Come on. Let’s do the dishes and watch something. Are you staying the night?”  
Karl smiles back. “You don’t mind?”  
_The problem is not you staying, Karl. The problem is that you’ll leave._ “You know that I don’t.”

The opening this could mean to him—the _chance_ —darts through his mind like a timid bird, a hummingbird that tries feeding from a land devoid of any flowers that could have ever grown there.

There is no hope in his heart and so the notion dies swiftly, as if it was never there.

Karl is available now, but not for him.

Never for him.

***

They fall asleep watching a rerun of C.S.I.

Chris is the first one to drop, Karl’s low commentary of the show as it develops on the screen relaxing him in a way that makes it impossible to keep his eyes open. He tries to at the very least remain where he is, back straight against the back of the couch, and retain the already threadbare personal space they have but Karl’s arm finds the exact moment in which he's simply too far gone to stir and move safe inches away, surrounds his shoulders and pulls until Karl’s warmth gives him another reason to doze and a comfy pillow to rest on.

***

When he comes to, he doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who’s holding him. Sure, the positioning is new—and he’s drowsy enough to joke about horizontal being his favorite so far—but he could recognize Karl’s hugs with his eyes closed.

He recognizes the shape and weight of his hands on him and how his chest feels against his. He still can’t describe his smell properly but he’s getting there—Karl smells like rain during summer, soothing and refreshing and craved; he smells like the pages of his favorite book, familiar and comfortable and treasured and a myriad of things Chris loves and can't get enough of—and he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want him to wake up and leave yet.

He wonders how much time has passed, if Karl has somewhere to be—he knows he does, that he isn’t in L.A. because of him, that he’s probably here either for an interview or a meeting.

Karl’s chest moves up and down with his breathing, slow and easy, as if Chris’ weight on it made no difference to him. Chris is surprised how close his ear is to Karl’s heart and how much of its constant drumming overlaps with his own.

Karl is lying on the couch, with Chris curled up on top of him. His legs and arms seem to hold him in place, as if they’re all scared Chris could bolt if he’s loose enough and no matter how much Chris thinks how _wrong_ this is, he still sneaks his hand beneath Karl’s neck and kneads his nape with his fingertips.

There is no photographer to capture the moment this time, but that’s okay. This time is _real_ , they’re not acting—even though, being fair, Chris never did—and this is all _theirs_ , this is something Chris can remember and keep for himself without the vicious, harsh edge of pretense.

He’s close to falling asleep again when Karl takes a deep breath and stretches a little beneath him, signaling he’s awake.  Chris drops his hand, aiming to be subtle about it.

“’Morning,” Karl greets, voice low and thick with sleep, “How are you feeling today, mate? Better?”

 _Never been better_ , Chris thinks dumbly. He nods, still reluctant to let go of a comfort Karl is probably getting tired of giving—or realizing this should be at least six kinds of awkward—and feels strangely legitimized to stay where he is when Karl sighs and keeps holding him.

Chris can’t remember the last time he felt this good, this right and alive. And of course it has to be with Karl, both problem and solution, and it doesn’t matter how complicated everything could be if Chris lets go now; he still _wants_ to.

He doesn’t.

He does make a decision that has nothing to do with the fact Karl is now single.

He can’t go through the process of putting distance between them again. It just doesn’t work and it’s not even what he wants. And what he wants—what he wants is oddly similar to what he has right now, even if today and the day before are a onetime occurrence.

He’d rather be Karl’s friend than anyone’s boyfriend. It’s a certainty that threatens to overwhelm him, but he pushes it to the back of his mind.

If he’s just one of many friends, if he’s not Karl’s best friend, if there’s nothing except these past hours they’ve spent wonderfully and dreadfully close to each other that Chris can call theirs without berating himself for daring to use that word, well…

It could be worse. They could be _nothing_ and that—that is something Chris couldn’t deal with.

He needs Karl so much. He’ll take what he can get.

He truly hopes Karl finds someone who can make him happy, someone who knows him well and understands him and deserves him, and that it doesn’t take long, that it happens as soon as Karl is ready for love again.

He doesn’t want him to be lonely or miserable. That’s the last thing he wants.

 _I could be that someone_. There’s the flapping of wings again, little and unsure and fleeting. It finds nothing that can support it alive and is gone as fast as the first time.

“What about you?” he asks, clutches Karl’s shirt absently and risks raising his head enough to squint at Karl from his chest.

Karl chuckles, reaches to the coffee table and pats until he fishes Chris’ glasses for him. He puts them on Chris’ nose and pushes them up until Chris can see properly again.

Chris blinks, slow and bemused. Karl’s eyes look like moist grass today, his lips curling up in a way that Chris won’t pause to assess but that could be loving in someone—anyone—else.

It’s wishful thinking, but he really hopes Karl doesn’t notice his blush.

“I’m good,” Karl says. “And you do look better. I’m glad. If you feel like talking about it though, here I am, not going anywhere.”

Chris could uncurl and kiss him. And oh, how he wants to. He has a brief, idiotic moment in which he’s sure he couldn’t be blamed.

And he does uncurl, but to stand up and breathe, forbids himself from ruining this for either of them.

He feels… cherished, which is amazing and also very, very bad.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a fanmix! You can listen to it [here](http://8tracks.com/allivegotleftismybones/you-steal-my-heart).
> 
> Short appearances of the Almost Human cast in this chapter.

> Love sought is good, but given unsought, is better.  
>  _William Shakespeare._

* * *

“I can’t do this,” Chris announces, tone final, bracing himself for Zach’s answer. He brings his hoodie snugly to his body and waits.  
“ _He went to see you, didn’t he?_ ” Zach asks. It’s a rhetorical question because he keeps going, sounding irritated, “ _And now you don’t_ want _to do it, even though you_ could _._ ”

Chris isn’t in the mood for a debate in semantics. He rests his forehead on his knees and takes a deep breath, telling himself Zach is trying to help him, that he must be patient.

He owes him an explanation, at the very least. “Zach, I just—I can’t detach from him enough to go through this. I miss him too much. When he came, I felt—I felt like I’d made a mistake trying to forget him. You’re right, I don’t want to do it. I’d rather have him near me, however I can have him.”  
There’s a pause, before he hears Zach’s resigned but teasing voice. “ _You know, if this were a novel, I wouldn’t buy it. It’d be too cheesy_.”  
Chris bites back a laugh. He closes his eyes in relief. His smile feels fragile and shaky but this is his reality. He has to be able to find some humor in it. “Yeah, tell me about it.”  
“ _Then we won’t talk about this anymore._ ”  
“Thanks, Zach.”  
Zach is suddenly serious again. “ _I do have something to tell you first. It won’t be easy to hear, but I want to know if you’re truly aware of what you’re doing._ ”  
With his guard up again, Chris groans. “Zach, please, drop it. I know what I’m doing. I get it, you don’t want me to be miserable, but—“  
“ _No, Chris. That’s not the issue. I don’t want you to waste your life waiting for someone who’s never going to love you in the same way you do. Sure, Karl cares for you. A lot, if the fact he dumped everything he had to do in order to be with you for a little while is anything to go by, but does that mean he’s in love with you? Does that mean that he could? Does he love you, Chris? Is he ever going to? You know the answer to these questions and you deserve better. Don’t you have the slightest bit of self-respect?_ ”

He knows Zach is being this vicious on purpose; that he’s trying to shake some sense into him, but all that he’s doing is making Chris want to sleep and never wake up again so he doesn’t have to deal with this.

Of course he knows the answers. All the variations of ‘no’ ring loudly in his head and he’s accepted them—or he thought he had.

“I’m going to hang up now,” he warns brokenly, “I’m sorry for wasting your time with this.”

He wipes his cheeks mechanically, wishing that he could somehow run out of tears. Zach doesn’t even wait a minute before calling him back, but Chris is already busy brushing his teeth and overlooking his reflection in the mirror.

He doesn’t want to be alone today, knows he needs a reason to stop crying.

Unluckily for him, he doesn’t think spending his life being Karl’s friend equals to wasting it so that’s not it.

He picks up his keys and drives to his parents’ place, leaving his cellphone behind.

***

“Sweetheart, you look so tired,” his mom cups his face as soon as he’s past the doorframe. She kisses his cheek, fixes him with a worried look that Chris tries to escape kissing her palm in return, “And thin! Is everything okay? Is this for one of your roles?”  
“I’m okay, mom,“ he smiles faintly, asks his dad for rescue with his eyes as he tries to reassure her, “I am tired, so I’m taking some time off to rest.”  
“Gwynne, don’t scare our son off when he just got here, please,” his dad says, patting him on the back and gently prying his mom away.

He does feel guilty for lying and worrying them, but his dad squeezes his shoulder and gestures to the barbecue outside. He’s giving him space and something to do, both of which Chris is immensely grateful for. They prepare the meat together and his dad fills the silence telling him about the last soccer game. Chris listens intently, welcoming the distraction from the mess in his head.

He helps his mom in the kitchen as well and finds himself smiling as he cleans up after her. She isn’t nearly as messy as Karl while cooking, but it brings a good memory to him and that takes a bit of weight off his chest.

It’s easier to breathe for a few minutes, until his mom stills his hands mid-sweep of the burners, taking them in hers, and grins.

“Now that’s more like my boy,” she says, encouraging, “Who’s the lucky lady, honey?”

The smile feels like it’s punched out of his face. The sense of dread he has imagining what his parents would say if they knew he’s in love with a man freezes him.

He’s not about to come out to his parents, not when there’s only been _one_ man he’s ever been attracted to and the possibility of them being together is null—zilch, zero, non-existent—and not when he could burst into tears at the slightest scowl of disapproval.

His parents aren’t homophobic, he knows that, but he also knows it’s different to be accepting of other people’s life choices than the ones of their own son.

He cards a hand through his hair, gulps. “Can we not talk about this, mom? Please.”

His dad chooses that moment to come into the kitchen. He takes the scene in front of him quickly and surrounds his mom’s shoulders with an arm. She leans into him and sighs.

Chris would be lying if he said he doesn’t want what they have. He guesses there must be something wrong with him when the virtual impossibility of getting anything similar to it doesn’t hurt him, not really, does nothing to his heart but to make it quiver in quiet acceptance, in tired apathy.

He brings his arms around himself, a part of him not caring he’s _in front of his parents_ and remembering how Karl’s arms feel when he holds him.

A part of him still longing for him.

_Does he love you?_

_No,_ he thinks, _but that doesn’t change anything._

“Oh, Chris, I’m so sorry,” he blinks and his mom is suddenly hugging him tight, standing on her tiptoes and tugging him down so he can hide his face in the crook of her neck, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Can you forgive your silly mother? I was just excited about you finally meeting someone that can be to you what your father is to me.”

He gives a watery laugh, clamps down the sobs that are rushing to get out, and nods.

He thinks that maybe coming here wasn’t a great idea, after all, but mostly he’s mad at himself. This isn’t his mom’s fault; it’s his own.

Hasn’t he cried enough already? Why does he have to spoil a quiet afternoon he wanted to share with his folks?

“Son, you might not want to talk, but listen to me for a minute,” Chris peeks at him from his mom’s shoulder, stifling a flinch as his dad puts a hand on his back.

He expects a lecture, expects to hear all about how he’s never going to have a family of his own if he keeps having girlfriends that have little next to nothing in common with him and how he’s 33 years old and late in figuring out what he wants. It wouldn’t be the first time he gets one of those.

What he gets instead astounds him, “We get a little frustrated and anxious, that’s true, seeing you alone when you have so much to give. And we might not be the most impartial of judges but anyone would be lucky to have you, son. Don’t try arguing about that with us. We’re not giving in. We’re not giving up on you and you shouldn’t either. Someday, you’ll find someone or they’ll find you, and then we’ll welcome them to our family, just as we’re always going to welcome _you_ in it. You have a place here, with us, a place no one but you can fill. Don’t forget that.”

He stutters a thank you that isn’t nearly enough to compensate for their support, but none of them seems to mind.

His mom wipes his cheeks tenderly, orders his dad to prepare some tea for them and get the lemon pie out of the fridge. He relaxes in her arms, counting the seconds that tick away until he can pull himself together, if only a little bit, and gives them a more genuine smile.

Chris wonders if his dad’s choice of neutral nouns and pronouns were a happy accident or if he’s just that transparent for them.

Either way, he’s grateful.

Things _will_ look up, if he tries hard enough.

***

“Too busy _pining_ , Pine?” Katie teases as she comes into his old room at their parents’ house.  
Chris snorts. That is not funny, not anymore, but he indulges her anyway, doesn’t want to ruin her good mood. “Always,” he replies, mock-proud. He takes in the darkness of the room and frowns. The curtains are wide open. It’s night already, “What time is it?”  
“You mean what day is it? You slept for over a day,” she says, no longer joking, “You gave mom a scare. I think she came here to check if you were breathing at least twenty times.”  
Chris winces, pushes the covers off him and rubs his face with a hand. “I’ll go help with dinner.”  
“Okay,” she smiles kindly but adds, stern, pointing a finger at him, “But you call Zach first. He’s worried, Chris.”  
Chris sighs. He’s such an ass. It’s a wonder he has such amazing friends and family at all. “Yes, _mom_.”

***

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes quietly, “I don’t know why you put up with me, man, really.”  
“ _I’m sorry too, buddy,_ ” Zach says just as quietly, “ _I shouldn’t have said that the way I did and definitely not so soon. Please, don’t be silly. You know exactly why I put up with you._ ”  
“Because you are my friend,” Chris intones, failing to deadpan Spock’s quote but not caring.

God, his head hurts. He swears to ban oversleeping from his life from now on.

Zach giggles and just like that, they’re okay again. “Oh my God, you’re such a dork.”

***

“ _How soon you think it’d be too soon?_ ” Karl asks casually as they’re skyping one night.

Chris has his nose buried in a book and he’s glad he isn’t looking directly at the screen. It’s been two months, give or take, since Karl told him about his divorce and he knew the day when he wanted to start dating would come, but apparently he wasn’t as ready for it as he thought he was.

 _What else is new_ , he thinks tiredly. He’s made a habit of overestimating himself.

He peeks at Karl through his lashes, deciding that yeah, he’s going to hide in the reading he’s not doing anymore. “Well, if you’re thinking about asking someone out, I’d say it’s been long enough,” he pauses, swallows around a dry throat, “You’re the only one who can tell if you’re ready or not.”  
“ _I am_ ,” Karl insists. The script he was studying lays forgotten on the table, closed and tucked to the side. Chris frowns, can’t remember when that happened, “ _You know that Nat and I were friends more than anything the last couple of years we were together. She’s seeing someone already and I feel…_ ”  
“Lonely?” Chris fills in.  
“ _Yeah_ ,” Karl concedes, a yawn halting his words for a moment, “ _Which is ridiculous, considering I barely have time for anything._ ”  
Chris smiles slightly, understanding, “There’s always time to feel lonely, Karl.”  
“ _I guess there is_ ,” he takes a breath, seemingly collecting himself and that makes Chris lift his head from the pages in front of him, “ _So tell me, are you busy next week?_ ”

Chris blinks at the non sequitur. He still has a few weeks until he has to travel to London to start filming Jack Ryan again, so he shakes his head.

Karl grins and doesn’t seem to notice his confusion. “ _I’ve been thinking you could come for a visit. I’m going to be shooting most of the time, but I don’t know when I’m going to have any days off to fly to L.A. and I—I’d like to see you, you know, in person, not that seeing you like this isn’t nice because it is, Chris. I’m a little bit greedy, you could say. I miss you._ ”  
“You—“ Chris’ mouth works but no words are forming in his brain, so he ends up gaping at Karl. In the end he settles for the rest of their customary exchange, something that never stops being true, whether he says it out loud or not, “I miss you too.”  
“ _I talked with J.J_ ,” Karl says, “ _You can hang around the set if you want. I do have to warn you about spoilers, though._ ”  
Chris just knows Karl is gagging to make some Doctor Who reference, so he repeats, raising his eyebrows, “Spoilers?”  
Right on cue, Karl croons. “ _Spoilers!_ ”  
“I’d love to,” Chris says, a part of him still not believing he’s going to Vancouver because Karl _invited_ him. His heart beats fast and excited in his chest and Chris lets it, “When should I book a flight?”  
“ _Tuesday, if that’s okay with you._ ”

Honestly, Karl could say _right now_ and Chris would drop everything and go.

He doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Tuesday sounds good.”

***

The flight there gives Chris unwanted time to fret.

He hopes Karl isn’t about to set them on a double date or introduce Chris to other men, thinking he could date them. That’d be so awkward Chris cringes in his seat and covers his face with his hands just thinking about it. That _was_ awkward enough when Zach tried to do it and with Karl? Chris doesn’t think he could make it.

The passenger next to him asks him if he’s alright and Chris is glad he kept his sunglasses on. He’s still recognizable, sure, but it’s a bit harder this way and he likes thinking he’s just another blonde dude with Ray-Bans on.

***

The set is buzzing with activity and no one pays much attention to him as he walks timidly in search of either Karl or J.J.

He finds J.J. first. They shake hands and Chris thanks him for allowing him to be here. J.J. guides him through it, gives him a quick mini tour of the things they come across, laughing every time Chris marvels at the props and points, excited like a little kid. He dismisses Chris’ shyness with a gesture when he asks where he’d be less annoying and sits him right next to him, behind the cameras, so Chris gets comfortable and watches Karl in his environment until it’s time for lunch.

They eat with the main cast and Chris feels—oddly—not out of place. At least, not as much as he thought he was going to be. The camaraderie is obvious and easy between everyone and Chris is just a guest on the table, but Karl is sitting so close to him it’s hard to forget why he’s here—because Karl _wanted to see him in person_ —and they’re so nice that what little social skills Chris has seem to be enough to carry him through the conversation.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Chris,” Michael says, like he’s been looking forward to it, “Karl has told us a lot about you.”

Chris shoots Karl a confused look but the man nods, beaming, as if he can’t find anything wrong or weird with that statement and shoves more food in his mouth. Chris has a short moment to keep thinking _okay, what the hell_ before Lili speaks, handing Karl a bowl of mashed potatoes.

“I do believe someone was flaunting a little bit,” she teases, “Like a peacock. I hardly think that was necessary, Karl.”

 _Why would he even do that?_ Chris thinks, although he does think Karl was even more impressive than he normally is and that—well, that’s saying _a lot_.

“Lies,” Karl counters.  
“You totally were,” Minka agrees and Karl groans, turning to Michael for help.  
“Sorry, you’re all alone on this one, man,” he says, chuckling, “If it’s any consolation though, I’d say it worked like a charm.”

As everyone around laughs goodheartedly and whoops their assenting, Chris chooses to go with the flow even though he doesn’t have the faintest idea what’s going on anymore.

It seems like a vital part of the talk flew right over his head, probably an inside joke.

But Karl looks so pleased and _happy_. That’s the only thing that matters to him.

Chris has to stop himself from staring but he smiles down at his plate and feels—for the first time in a long, long time—content.

Things are definitely looking up.

***

When he’s done for the day, Karl takes him to his apartment and tells him he has a surprise for him. He makes Chris wait in the living room and he sits meekly, the smell of cooked meat reaching his nostrils not long afterward.

The surprise is homemade burgers Karl prepared the night before for them. He apologizes for the lack of fries, treating it like such serious business Chris can’t help but want to kiss the silliness out of him, but refrains from it, as always. He wanted to make them himself, he says, and he didn’t manage this time but later he’s definitely going to. _Next time_ , he says, promises, and Chris can only offer a quiet okay and stare.

He’s been doing okay lately—alright, _mostly_ , but he’s been okay, really and that has a lot to do with how often they’ve been talking and skyping and seeing each other—so there’s no reason for Karl to do this, to try and cheer him up. They’re the closest they could ever be, so Chris is as good as he’s ever going to be.

Asking would be ungrateful and rude, though, so he compliments Karl on his cooking—the burgers aren’t chicken but they’re close enough to be the best Chris has ever eaten and that’s saying something—and enjoys the dinner he put so much thought in, feeling warm and full and practically giddy with joy.

“Oh, man,” he groans, rubbing his belly and slouching on the chair after the second one, “You have to teach me how to make these. I don’t want to stop eating because they’re so good but I can’t eat anymore.”  
Karl chuckles, “I will,” he assures, standing up and going to his side, crouching beside him and looking up at him with a soft, fond smile. “There’s more where those came from. You can have them for breakfast.”

Just the thought of breakfast makes Chris groan again. He closes his eyes, satisfied with his decision to stop at two instead of trying to stuff another in his stomach. It means he’s pleasantly full instead of about to be sick.

He’s going to ask whether Karl got this good at making burgers because of his kids—it’s a silly question, but then again, there are weird children who don’t like burgers around so it’s still a valid one—when a hand on his chin stops him and tilts his head to the side.

He opens his eyes and his breath catches in his throat. Karl is so close to him, kneeling on the floor now, and he’s looking at him like—like he wants—

 _Me? But that can’t be_ , Chris thinks. It’s a thought he has trouble backing up as Karl traces his bottom lip with reverent movements, his thumb so gentle and measured Chris feels like he’s about to burst at the seams with the need to kiss Karl and to Hell with the consequences.

But this friendship—it is everything he has. He will not risk it, not for a little taste of something that’s not meant for him.

He stays still.

Ever so slowly, Karl places his other hand on his knee and squeezes briefly, meaningfully. “Chris, I—“ he starts, his voice low and hoarse. He clears his throat, starts over, “I’m a little rusty, so this could sound funny instead of smooth, but would you like to go out with me?”

The words repeat in Chris’ mind on a loop— _would you like to go out with me, go out with me, go out with me—_ and they don’t make sense, no matter how much he replays them.

They do sound like permission, like an invitation he could never turn down.

He clutches Karl’s shoulders, tips his head down and it takes a few misfires—he kisses Karl in the corners of his mouth twice, then underneath his nose, then on his chin—but he finds his lips and presses his own raptly against them, making it impossible to misinterpret his intent. He closes his eyes against his own fears and his clumsiness but that only lasts for so long.

Soon enough, he’s terrified of himself and backtracks. He glances at Karl, feeling like all the blood that should be concentrating on his face and neck to blush is quickly migrating elsewhere, leaving him pale and sweaty, in a fight or flight response that he struggles with until Karl curls his fingers on his nape and guides him back to his lips.

They bump noses this time and Karl laughs. “If that was a yes,” he murmurs against Chris’ mouth, “I think I need to hear it again.”

Karl doesn’t wait for his reply, nor does he wait for Chris to kiss him again. The softness of his lips and his hands on his hip and neck overrun Chris’ thoughts and he can’t tell if he falls on purpose or Karl pulls until he does, but his knees hit the kitchen slates and he’s suddenly, _finally_ level with Karl. His hands practically move on their own accord, searching for something to cling to and finding solid, warm muscle on Karl’s back.

He opens his mouth just as Karl’s tongue prods his bottom lip. A short, watery laugh gets swallowed by Karl because he tastes like ketchup and pickled cucumbers and it should be kind of awful because Chris had onions but somehow it _works_ and they can’t seem to get enough of each other.

They kiss until Karl licks the roof of his mouth, making Chris shiver, and retreats, like it was a prize he longed for or something he needed to draw strength from. He kisses Chris’ cheek next on top of his old acne scars, utterly tender, and Chris stifles a sob.

There are several things he doesn’t get, but he does know that if he starts weeping like a baby whatever it is they have going will go out like a candle light in a windy night.

He stutters a sigh, huddles close to Karl’s chest. Karl’s heart is beating fast, faster than his own, and that calms him enough to not start sobbing for real when Karl kisses the top of his head and scratches softly, his hand cradling Chris’ big head like he doesn’t want to let go.

“I think I can get away with leaving early tomorrow night,” he says quietly. It takes Chris a moment to realize he’s back to talking about dating—about dating _him_ , of all people, “Luckily this is Canada, so that means we can go wherever we want and no one will make a big deal of it.”

Karl holds his hips and hoist them both back on their feet. Chris wants to keep his eyes shut but Karl cups his cheeks and he knows he has to look at him and face him—face _this_ , face what’s happening, but it feels so fragile he dreads to break it if he does.

Or maybe it’s him who’s fragile and the one about to break.

It’s hard to tell. He can’t even think.

“Okay,” he approves faintly, dares to peep at Karl through half-lidded eyes and rushes to erase the worried look he sees on his face.

He takes pride in finding Karl’s lips in the first try and gives him the dirtiest kiss he’s capable of. Karl groans with it and hoists him up again, this time depositing him on the counter and nudging his legs apart. Chris feels him hard against his thigh and moans, both in surprise and pleasure, and Karl barely outlines his jaw with damp lips before kissing him again, frenzied and desperate—or is it Chris who’s kissing him like that? The edges blur and he’s not sure, but they kiss until he’s tingling all over and he’s so breathless it feels he won’t ever be done catching his breath.

“I’m a gentleman. I’m a gentleman,” Karl chants like a mantra and Chris almost snorts, but it’s too affectionate of an intention to sneer at and he doesn’t, “We’re not doing anything else until our date.”  
Chris looks pointedly at the table with the leftovers of their dinner instead, tugging lightly at the short hairs on the back of Karl’s neck to make sure he has his attention. “That looked enough like a date to me.”  
“No, it didn’t,” Karl retorts quickly, seeing right through Chris’ lie, “You had _no idea_ what was going on. I’m starting to believe you had no idea I’ve been thinking about us for a while now. Did you really think I was just being friendly, Chris?”  
Chris looks down, ashamed and blushing. He worries his swollen and still tingling lip with his teeth and admits, small and hesitant. “Maybe.”  
“I’ve been doing everything wrong, then,” Karl sighs. He doesn’t sound mad, but sad instead and Chris tenses, knowing it’s all his fault, “And we’re doing everything backwards now and I don’t want that, Chris. This is no hook up or rebound for me. You do know that, right?”  
He replies, placating, “I do.”

Well, he does know _now_. He wishes he had an easier time believing it but for now knowing is enough. Has to be.

“Okay. We’re okay then,” Karl stumbles on the words and Chris marvels at his own power, watching as Karl’s breath hitches just because Chris is giving him an unfaltering come-hither look and enjoying how he makes Karl kiss him again without moving a finger, “We’re… okay.”

The kiss is close-mouthed and short but Karl lingers afterward, leaning his forehead against Chris’ own.

There’s an ugly thing crawling inside Chris’ chest, clawing to come out. The hummingbird that was once there turned into a vulture in its famine and solitude. It wants flesh and it’s fixated on Chris’ heart, won’t let go until it’s ripped it to shreds and eaten the dead remnants of it.

“Does this mean we can’t go make out on your couch?” Chris asks and his voice sounds odd to his ears, but he aims for playfulness, sucking Karl’s bottom lip to his mouth before adding, “It’s such a nice couch.”

He scratches Karl’s nape for good measure—he noticed he quite liked that while they were kissing and he’s not above playing dirty, not when the need to have everything at once now that he _can_ is so great he doesn’t care getting it right now could tear him apart.

“God, you’re going to kill me,” Karl grunts. He complies just like that, helping him down of the counter and tugging him by a hand towards the living room, “Yes, yes we can.”

As Karl settles on the sofa and beckons Chris to him, he has a sharp déjà vu that he reinvents straddling Karl and sucking at his lip again, tongue teasing but reluctant to join Karl’s, teeth biting just enough to prickle as he withdraws and waits for Karl to react.

And he does, kissing Chris hard enough he thinks he’s going to faint if he keeps going one more second. He’s panting wildly once it’s over and the only reason Karl lets go of his lips is because Chris’ mouth is parted in an awed ‘O’ after discovering grinding down against Karl is a very good idea.

“You’ve never been with a man,” Karl says in wonder and it’s not a question, but Chris shakes his head and moans as Karl leads him down again with a firm hand on the small of his back, keeping him there so he can appreciate the weight and shape of them pressed together through their pants, “I’m the first.”  
“The only one,” Chris breathes, the filter he keeps such a tight hold of not working any longer, not when Karl has him like this, “I don’t want anyone else.”

His filter is not alone in its malfunction, because Karl nips and laps at his neck and pushes up as he’s pushing Chris down on him, seemingly beyond himself. They find their mouths again, eventually, and the kiss is sloppy and hurried but wonderful.

It’s not long until the friction gets overwhelming and Chris’ eyelids flutter, heat coiling in his gut and electricity traveling through his limbs in the prodrome of orgasm.

He angles his hips just right, his pants tight enough that he can feel Karl’s dick fitting in the cleft of his ass, and comes—sudden and wrecked and immediately mortified because he came _in his pants_ and they were barely starting.

He leans his head on Karl’s shoulder, so embarrassed a slight tremor goes through his body, and it’s only then he notices Karl is also winded, heartbeat unmistakably accelerated. He inspects his groin with coy fingers and sure enough, it’s damp too.

It’s so ridiculous and unexpected it takes the edge off Chris’ desperation and that morbid urge lurking inside of him. It prowls to a corner, mad and screeching, and as Chris breathes Karl in it gets farther and farther until it’s nothing but a distant threat, something that’s easy to forget as drained as he feels even after so little.

Karl chuckles—a low rumbling sound that reverberates through his chest, sending shivers through Chris—and takes Chris’ hand from between them, kissing his knuckles as he gives him an intense look. “You are a menace,” he says.

Chris hums, peering at him for a short moment before closing his eyes and snuggling back against him.

“Too easy for your tastes, Mr. Urban?” it’s teasing and light, with just a tad of fear lapping at the edges.  
Karl detects it all the same, holds him snugly but carefully, like he knows exactly what it could to do Chris if he let go too soon or if he held on too tight. “No,” he replies gently, “Not at all. You’re perfect, Chris, perfect for me and that—that was amazing. I just think slowing down wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, that it could help us figuring this out.”

_You’re perfect for me._

He’s glad Karl can’t see his face. He shuts his eyes tight, feels stripped bare and disgustingly vulnerable even though they’re both fully clothed.

“This?” Chris echoes dumbly.  
“What we are,” Karl answers patiently, effortlessly, “Our relationship.”

Karl’s hands trace smooth circles on Chris’ lower back and a sound, ragged and hurting, pushes for escape out of his throat but Chris doesn’t grant it.

He stays quiet and eventually, either because he’s too tired or because Karl’s hands are _that_ good, the tension slips out of him and he slumps against Karl.

He’s half-asleep by the time Karl speaks again, lips brushing against his temple. “We should really get cleaned up before bed,” he points out, ever so gentle in rousing him enough to make him stand and leads him to the bathroom, “I’ll go get your things. Be right back.”

He leaves Chris standing in front of the sink. Chris stares at the mirror for a second, frowning when he realizes just how blank his expression is and looks to the side.

He’s so mad at himself. What the hell is he doing? By all means, he’s supposed to be happy right now. He’s supposed to be _thrilled_ , actually, and he knows he is but it’s hard to grasp it underneath all the dejection he’s been feeling for so long it clouds everything else.

He’s in a relationship—in a _relationship_!—with Karl. This is everything he ever wanted, everything he thought he could never have and yet—and yet here it is, this thing being born between them, and he can’t even _smile_ to show Karl just how much it means to him because he _can’t believe_ this is happening at all.

He feels Karl’s temporary absence like a brutal grip around his heart. It takes the uneven ground he’s been standing on right off his feet and Chris is suddenly choking.

Somewhere inside him, a horrid squall booms.

Karl is not even gone for a minute but when he comes back Chris is huddled on the floor, leaning against the tub, the heel of his hands pressed tight on his eyes.

He hears a bag hitting the tiles and looks up in time to watch Karl dropping on his knees to gather him in his arms. Nothing in his touch is tentative or slow and that’s exactly what Chris needs to get some air in his lungs again but Karl has that worried look on his face again and Chris hates himself for putting it there, for doing this to them when they should be enjoying their new beginning instead.

Is he really trying so hard to ruin this? First he rushed them to have sex—or some modicum of it, the closest thing Karl would allow at the moment—and now he’s scaring Karl off with a nervous breakdown.

What the fuck is wrong with him?

“I’m sorry,” he whispers and it’s practice what keeps his voice even, his distress in check, “I just—I need a minute. Go to sleep, you have to get up early. I’ll be fine.”

He expects Karl to cuss the weakness that drove him to rut against Chris until they both came since it’s obvious Chris wasn’t ready for it and keep holding him for a bit before accepting his words and leaving him alone as he asked, but Karl does none of that.

He breaks apart enough to cup Chris’ face in his hands and looks at him straight in the eye. “It was me, wasn’t it?” he asks softly, so softly that Chris doesn’t flinch even though he knows exactly where this is going, “The guy you were trying to forget—it was me. I did this to you.”

 _He knows_ , Chris thinks, and this time it’s no false alarm.

This time is real.

Is Karl going to regret asking him out?

What is this going to do to them? Is there even going to be a _they_ after this? His feelings are so clogging and heavy Chris wouldn’t blame him if he decides it’s not worth it anymore.

And yet he’s been so kind and careful. Everything would be fine if Chris hadn’t tried so hard to tip them out of balance.

So what if Karl isn’t as head over heels as Chris is with him? This is more than Chris could have ever imagined and he wants it, he wants it so much he doesn’t think he can handle having it, let alone losing it.

He has to fix this. “You didn’t—“  
“Shh,” Karl shushes him and when that doesn’t work and Chris still tries to defend him, he kisses him gently, barely moving his lips at all, just letting the pressure there anchor Chris to him, “I’m a big boy, Chris,” he reminds him, forehead firm against his own, “You don’t have to lie to me. I’m here now. Let me help.”  
“I’m sorry,” it’s all Chris can say but Karl nuzzles his nose and shushes him again.

Gradually, Chris unwinds in the embrace. He puts his arms around Karl’s back and squeezes, remembering all the times he used to think that was everything he was allowed to do. He still can’t believe that’s not true, that he can touch and kiss and linger in Karl’s arms as much as he wants to, but he feels slightly less fraught and frail and better, soothed, almost— _hopeful._

His treacherous left eye cries a solitary, plump tear. Karl kisses it off Chris’ skin and practically scoops him up, sitting on the floor with Chris wrapped around him. “That’s it,” he says, reassuring, “Let it go, Chris. Let it go.”

It’s easier said than done. Chris prefers to focus on the mess in their pants than in the one inside him, insisting they should wash up and go to sleep.

Karl relents and gives him some privacy, but waits close to the bathroom door. Chris can hear him pacing outside for minutes before he seems convinced Chris is not going to crack again and leaves to wash himself.

Chris takes a quick shower and considers going to sleep in the guest room.

In the end, knowing they’re going to be apart for most of the day tomorrow—or is it today? He doesn’t even know what time it is, he’s so tired it feels like it took him years to calm down enough to move—he ends up waiting for Karl on his king sized bed.

He buries his face in his pillow, tells himself he’ll move out of what’s obviously Karl’s side of the bed in a minute.

He falls asleep instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I miscalculated and this got long, so there's going to be one more chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

> “Anyone can be passionate, but it takes real lovers to be silly.”  
>  _Rose Franken._

* * *

He hasn’t dreamed in a long time. And he knows this isn’t a dream; he knows it with the certainty a man from a shipwreck knows he’s finally found the shore as he feels it under his feet, as he kneels and kisses and tastes the very thing he’s longed and needed for so long he can barely grasp the reality of it and as the grains of sand slip through his fingers and scratch his skin he’s still yearning, still wondering, ‘ _could it be? Could it be?_ ’

Karl is pressed close to his back, his arms an encompassing presence in Chris’ middle, claiming but mindful of the barrier of clothes. He peppers the back of his neck with sleepy kisses, wet and warm and real and Chris sighs, divided between going back to sleep or turn around and see how much of a bad idea morning kisses could be.

For the first time in forever, he feels almost light. Karl _knows_ about his dirty little secret and he’s here with him as if he had no intention of going anywhere yet, as if the promise of a—passing, maybe, however long Karl wants it to be—future together were enough to unburden him of the guilt Chris never wanted to inflict on him.

 _If this is a dream_ , he thinks, _let me dream._

Chris is tentatively entwining his fingers with Karl’s when a blaring alarm makes them jump.

A bubbly if short-lived laugh comes unbidden to Chris’ lips. “The Imperial March, Karl? Really?”  
Karl turns it off with the ease of practice, reaching over Chris to the nightstand, his weight increasing on Chris for a short moment before he’s back behind him. “That was a test,” he murmurs, unashamed, and kisses Chris’ shoulder, his lips teasing their way up on his neck to his ear, where he adds, “Congratulations, you passed.”

Chris snorts, takes advantage of the angle to find out just how awful or wonderful Karl’s morning breath is. He hums in the kiss, considering, and Karl chuckles.

It’s definitely not a bad idea.

“Glad to be meeting your expectations,” Chris says jokingly, ignoring the twinge of fear his own words cause.  
“You are,” Karl says and he doesn’t sound like he’s joking at all.

***

Chris contents himself brewing coffee while Karl showers and gets ready for his day. His fingers twitch with the urge to do more, to do better, to make amends for last night. He wants to cook the best breakfast Karl has ever had, he wants to kiss him until he forgets he has to go, he wants to do everything and anything Karl could ask of him but he knows the best thing—the only thing—he can do at the moment is ready a travel cup and let Karl eat at the set, where the food will be better than most of the things Chris can make.

He sits down in the same spot he did last time with a mug of his own and sips, the sugariness of it lingering heavy on his tongue. Karl has always liked his coffee strong but sweet and Chris absentmindedly thinks as he waits for him that there’s probably no better parallel to how he is as a—lover? Partner? The last word almost gets a hysterical laugh out of him, sounds way too serious for a thing that’s only a few hours old and that Chris has been trying to slay since the beginning.

God, he needs to stop messing up. Unfortunately, he’s not sure how to do that. And it sounds like such a simple thing…

He’s so abstracted the kiss he receives on the forehead surprises him. “Chris. You’re not staying here to brood. Come on. Go get dressed.”

Chris squints up at him. He left his contacts on for too long the day before and he’s not sure if he wants to go out today, to be seen when he still feels like he’s been scraped raw but he supposes he has to make the most of the fact Karl wants him around.

He doesn’t need the extra encouragement Karl sets on doing, his thumb adamant in caressing his stubbly cheek.

He cocks his head, kisses the pad of Karl’s finger and smiles slightly. “Yeah, okay. I’m going.”

***

Chris knows they need to be careful around the set, that the world is imperfect and that even if it weren’t this thing between them is too fresh, too delicate to expose yet.

He’s not expecting Karl to take his hand and get out of the car as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, but he _is_ wondering how that would feel—walking hand in hand with him, wondering if they’re ever going to be able to do that.

Karl squeezes his hand for a long moment before opening the door of the car. His smile is dim as he fixes his eyes on their linked hands. Chris has the odd, incredible feeling they were thinking about the same thing and his heart thumps wildly in his chest.

Maybe they do want the same— _could it be?_ —maybe this thing won’t be as fleeting as Chris’ gloomy side insists it’s going to be.

He squeezes back.

***

Chris watches in puzzlement as Karl picks two winter jackets and throws them in the back seat along with a scarf and two pairs of gloves.

“Where are we going?” he asks, “The top of a mountain?”  
“No,” Karl replies with a laugh, “It’s a little late for that, isn’t it?”  
“Right.”

***

It’s 10 pm but the ice rink is open and deserted. A single employee waves at them cheerfully and Karl returns the greeting, his other hand closing around Chris’ as soon as the doors shut behind them.

The place isn’t big and clearly designed to host non-professional, recreational skating. The ice looks even and well maintained, the temperature quickly dropping to uncomfortable levels as Karl leads him further inside.

There are a few booths at the left, a thick glass wall between that section and the ice so the cold there isn’t as biting. Only one of the tables looks like it’s about to be used; a lone and ordinary white candle flickering on top of it, a whole roll of napkins, a salt shaker and a big pack of ketchup alongside with it.

Karl gestures at the table at the same time the employee appears with a big portion of fries, leaving it on the table and winking as he hurries back.

Karl drops the coats on one of the benches and nudges Chris to scoot over the other, raising an eyebrow as he start chewing on a fry.

“Candle wasn’t my idea,” he explains, “And these are greasy, but it’ll get better once—“  
“Hey,” Chris cuts in, stopping Karl’s rambling with a quick kiss. He stays close and smiles softly when Karl just stares at him in amazement and decides he might as well say it since he’s already blushing, “I couldn’t ask for anything else. This is great already.”

He bats Karl’s hand away when he tries to steal more chips without anything on them, puts salt and ketchup all over the carton and offers a large one with his fingers for Karl to bite into.

The fries aren’t half as bad and maybe it’s the company, but Chris actually quite likes them.

***

Karl finishes putting on a grey, thick jacket and holds a dark blue one to Chris for him to slip into. There’s a somewhat shy smile playing on his lips, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed this kind of gesture, but Chris lets him help him put it on and zip it. It feels nice, he thinks, too focused on the fact _they’re on a date_ to overthink it. He blushes, breathes deeply and enjoys how the coat is a little loose on him. Karl checks him out for a minute and beams at him and that—yeah, that’s something he enjoys too.

They put the skates on next and Chris looks at the ice in front of them. He hasn’t skated in ages and they’re probably in for a laugh but he can’t find it in him to care if he makes a fool of himself.

Karl is here. It’s going to be fun.

“I hope your idea of a romantic evening is picking me up every time I end up flat on my ass,” he comments, testing his balance on the skates and not wobbling on his feet as much as he thought he was going to, “Because that’s going to happen a lot.”  
Karl laughs, still seated, and tugs at the scarf around Chris’ neck until their noses are brushing and he can tilt his head to kiss Chris softly, playfully, making sure he doesn’t start falling yet as he settles a hand around his waist. “At least you’ll get to ice the bruises right away.”

Chris giggles at the bad joke, eyes crinkling at the corners in mirth, and straightens up, taking Karl’s gloved hands in his to force him to do the same.

***

“I wish I’d brought my camera,” Chris says after a while of—surprisingly—uneventfully gliding through the ice.

Karl kisses his temple and slides backwards, his hands firm on Chris’ hips as he leads him forward. There’s something hiding in his smile, secretive and proud and delighted, and Chris closes his eyes, choosing not to ask. He waits until Karl’s lips have finished brushing their way through his cheek and kisses him, hands finding his shoulder blades over the layers, and lets him have his secret in favor of lingering there and memorizing the touch of his slightly chapped mouth on his along with everything else of this night. Karl’s stubble burns his cheeks slightly as their lips get stuck on each other and that’s different, but not unpleasant. It’s a barely-there feeling he’s probably noticing for the first time because the fact they’re on a _date—_ a date!—makes him hyperaware of things.

And he forgets for a little while, forgets he’s not supposed to have _this_ —to have Karl looking at him like he’s found something precious, to have his arms around him like he’s not willing or mad enough to let go of Chris anytime soon, to have him close and warm and _here_ , with him.

When he does fall, Karl goes right along with him, landing heavy and hard right on top of him. He punches every bit of air out of his lungs and it hurts, the force of the impact blunt and lasting on his back, but Chris can’t stop laughing between coughs and wheezes once the initial jolt of pain dies down.

“I’m fine, I swear,” he assures but Karl doesn’t seem to be convinced, his hands prodding for broken bones or aches with nimble fingers after opening Chris’ coat.  
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Karl grumbles, scowling probably at himself as he keeps on with his inspection, “That was a nasty fall, Chris. I’m sorry I made it worse.”  
Chris shakes his head. “Not your fault,” he says and stays right where he is, sprawled on the ice underneath Karl, watching him fixedly.

This is as literal as it’s ever going to get, the best analogy to what happened to him and his heart after he met Karl, and he’s still chuckling under his breath, can’t seem to stop until he suddenly notices there’s something wrong with the picture, something that isn’t quite like it’s supposed to be, like it _was._

Because for once, nothing feels broken. For once, his heart leaps and soars and doesn’t plummet down, soaking in the attention it’s being given, knowing it’s precisely what he wants—what he’s always wanted.

He sighs, shuddering slightly, and keeps looking up.

He isn’t sure what Karl sees in his eyes but whatever it is, it makes his chest seize up until he leans down, carefully, and zips the jacket Chris is wearing again as he steals another kiss. It’s almost reverent, this one, slow and soft and demanding all of Chris’ attention without needing to, because Karl _has_ it, has _him_.

He’s always had.

Chris pushes him up until he’s sitting and Karl is kneeling in front of him. He takes the gloves off, knowing they’re both too cold to stay for much longer anyway, and weaves his hands around Karl’s neck.

He doesn’t break the kiss—doesn’t plan to, not yet—and Karl is reluctant to do so as well but he eventually gets back on his feet and extends an uncovered hand to help Chris do the same.

Chris knows they’re both freezing cold, but he feels Karl’s skin warm, almost scorching hot against his.

And perhaps it’s some sort of warning, but Chris holds fast all the same.

If it’s about protecting himself from being burned— _branded_ —it’s already too late.

***

His back is sore. It’s kind of an understatement since he hasn’t even moved and he’s lying on his stomach and he can still feel the ache just waiting to be acknowledged, but that isn’t what makes him gasp and dart a panicky look around.

He’s alone. On Karl’s bed and Karl’s pillow, but that doesn’t seem to be enough to keep whatever he’s been pushing to stay down is. Disbelief, doubt, fear, stupidity—it doesn’t matter the name, or what it is, Chris just doesn’t want to deal with it, doesn’t know if he _can_ , he just wants it _gone_ before it swallows him up whole and ruins everything with Karl.

He tries to even his breaths and fishes his iPhone from the nightstand, bumping into a box of paracetamol first.

It’s 11 am and he has a text from Karl from around 3 hours ago.

 _Get some rest_ , it reads, _see you at lunch if you can move. If you can’t, I’ll take you to the hospital so they can give you something stronger, okay? I’m sorry._

 _I’m okay_ , he texts back and alright, it’s a lie, but Karl is asking about his back and that’s nothing a very hot shower can’t cure, _and I told you, it wasn’t your fault. See you in a bit._

He dry swallows two pills, grimacing at the aftertaste, and tells himself he can make it for a couple more hours without freaking out.

Logically, and especially after their date, Chris knows it’s not possible for Karl to get tired of him so quickly. Trying to show his feelings some _logic_ though—that’s something he gave up doing long ago.

***

Every time Karl apologizes about his back and fusses over the bruises marring Chris’ pale skin, practically keeping a chart of the discoloration to see if it’s healing properly, Chris has the feeling he’s not talking about _that_ fall—at least, not entirely.

He hears the tacit questions Karl isn’t asking about all the time Chris spent carrying a torch for him, sees the concern and remorse in those otherwise perky hazel eyes and hates himself. Hates how he lacks the courage to tell him everything, hates how he doesn’t know whether that would make things better or worse, hates how he failed to keep it together so much he can’t lie about how much it affected him because there are proofs of it _everywhere_ so even if he could hide the ones in the present it wouldn’t do a thing. Karl could still see the ones in the past, in his memory, and Chris can’t believe there’s no way for him to _stop screwing up_.

It makes his skin crawl at first—because it’s not Karl’s fault, it was _never_ his fault and Chris doesn’t _deserve_ this—but with each passing day it’s easier to lie down and _let_ him—let him stroke his regret to Chris’ back, let him use the analgesic lotion as an excuse to pamper him with attention. His head quietens down bit by bit until his frustration is nothing but static, static that sounds remarkably like the shrieks and beats of a dying, worn-out bird of prey.

***

They go out to eat dinner on Friday night in a normal, less adolescent kind of date. They dress up and Karl opens the doors and pulls out the chair for him and Chris—again and surprisingly—doesn’t feel embarrassed about it, about being the proverbial girl in the relationship even though there are people around them that could be watching this time.

He feels charmed, like he’s being courted—like he’s _worth_ being courted—even though there’s no need for that because he’s as besotted as it’s humanly possible and Karl _knows_ that.

“Not bad for ‘a little rusty’,” he compliments, raising his glass of wine and saluting Karl with it after glancing around. They’re in some fancy Italian place that must’ve been a nightmare to book in time so he might be bordering on rude with his teasing, but he trusts Karl to get it, “Not bad at all.”  
Karl smirks, raises his glass in return, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Pine,” he intones, mock-serious, and drinks, “I do know you are hard to please.”

Chris ducks his head a little and laughs.

Yeah, Karl gets it.

***

He can’t forget he’s going back home in less than a day. It hasn’t even been a week and Chris is already used to Karl’s routine, already used to gravitate around him and he’s not surprised about that, not really, not when most of his world already had Karl as invisible axis. It is different now, though, having him along for the bumpy ride of their feelings and the shift in their relationship.

By Saturday, he’s somewhat mastered the ability to live day to day and stop shrinking and straining to see an end to _them_ in the near or distant— _could it be?_ —future. It’s the one thing he can actually do to avoid making stupid mistakes and hurting Karl and what they have with them, so he’s diligent in it even though his innate self-doubt snarls and battles with him for it.

They’re both tired for different reasons, trying to rewatch Dragonheart. Chris is smiling. He’s not focused on the movie but it reminds him of the first press tour, reminds him of simpler times when he used to think that yeah, no big deal, he was going to get over his big gay crush on Karl as soon as they stopped being around each other so often, as soon as they stopped calling and emailing one another, as soon as Karl met and worked with more interesting and witty co-stars.

He wasn’t right, of course he wasn’t—he couldn’t have been more wrong, actually, because none of that ever happened and they’re here now, cuddling on his couch, and Karl suddenly seems more interested in Chris’ neck than in the action on screen.

He doesn’t bother stifling the sharp intake of breath that causes, nor can he hide the slight shiver than runs through him as Karl dips lower, barely brushing his collarbone through his t-shirt, and is back up to his jaw. He bends towards him, encouraging, hands grasping Karl’s sides, thumbs tracing the defined muscles over his ribs. Karl’s lips are softer than his as they slide on his with gentleness and patience and he sighs into the kiss, opens his eyes to find Karl already watching him intently.

Chris blinks. Karl asks very quietly, like he’s afraid to shatter the easy moment as much as Chris is trying to ignore he is, “You look happy. What are you thinking about?”  
“You,” he admits. He can’t help blushing a little and he chuckles at himself. It’s not something Karl will easily spot in the semidarkness of the living room but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know it’s there, “You really like this movie. We watched it on the—“  
“Press tour,” Karl fills in for him. He heaves a deep sigh and his breath is warm as it tickles Chris’ skin, “Yeah, I remember.”  
Chris kisses him again, catching Karl’s bottom lip between his own and enjoying how Karl retaliates pushing his tongue in his mouth briefly, just as teasingly. “So,” he says flippantly, “Why aren’t you watching it this time?”  
It’s Karl’s turn to chuckle. “I suppose I am distracted,” he nuzzles Chris’ cheek, his hands pulling him closer until Chris has to straddle his hips to avoid hitting him with his knees, “You tired? We could turn in early.”

Chris can’t forget this is their last night together—although that phrasing quickly has him stiff and afraid and he pushes it aside, decides it’s not the right one at all—and he knows Karl is trying not to push him, especially after the fallout of the first time they got each other off but Chris feels as ready as he’s ever going to be and he wants to take something back home with him, something to remember he didn’t hallucinate them being together, something that tells him Karl wants him just as much as Chris does.

“No, but we could go to bed,” he suggests, voice going husky, heart beating fast just at the prospect of having Karl naked and pressed against him.

He feels more than sees Karl’s chest stuttering against his. Karl pulls apart a little and Chris is suddenly scared of being the one who’s pushing when he should be waiting. He calms down when he realizes all that Karl is looking for—quite literally, staring at Chris like the key to the matter lies right on his features—is confirmation and he holds his gaze, tries to appease his heart because there will be much more to come if this is really the right moment for it.

Chris could play dirty, just like he did the first time, and Karl would cave. Not as easily, that’s for sure, but he would and that—that gives him confidence to believe he’s not pushing, that this could be good for both of them.

“You’re sure,” Karl breathes at length.  
“I’m sure,” Chris repeats.

If they’re going too fast, they can slow down. He trusts Karl not to overwhelm him—not too much, not in a bad way.

Their steps are quiet as they tread barefooted to the bedroom. They’re both eager to get there, Chris can tell in the way their entwined fingers squeeze and begin sweating.

Karl turns the light on and Chris can’t remember the last time he was this nervous about having sex. He breathes through it slowly, distracts himself taking Karl’s t-shirt off with no further ceremony and drawing his muscled frame with tentative fingertips.

He doesn’t know what he should be doing, doesn’t know if he’s doing too little or too much, doesn’t know where this is going or even if he’s going to be any good at it. But he wants it, wants it so much he keeps breathing and touching and it gets easier, his fingers turning confident once he notices that just the simple touch is enough to have Karl pushing him to the bed and hissing, his hands impatient as he tugs at the hem of Chris’ t-shirt.

He takes it off, kisses him soundly until Chris’ knees hit the bed and he falls on it. He looks up as Karl crawls on top of him, angles his neck enough to catch his lips again and closes his eyes, relaxing under him and giving Karl free reign to do with him as he pleases.

And for a while they’re too engrossed in it, too engrossed in each other as they tumble in the sheets and find out what makes them shiver and groan and gasp for more until Karl stands up, buck naked, and takes a small tube from his drawer. Chris watches, anticipation growing and tying a tight knot inside of him but he breathes through it, determined to let Karl do anything he wants.

And maybe Karl _knows_ just how far Chris is willing to go and still _won’t_ take advantage of it. He looks at Chris waiting for him on the bed on his side, flushed and sweaty and ready, and his eyes soften.

When he takes himself in his hand and strokes, generously applying lube to all the length of him, Chris stares.

He licks his lips, right hand reaching to join in. Karl leaves room for him and closes his hand around his, letting Chris appreciate how thick and hot and already slick he is. He pumps a few times, Karl’s hand encouraging him to squeeze tighter, hips bucking as he kneels down on the edge of the bed.

“Come here,” he says roughly, vowels catching with Chris’ upstroke.

Chris goes, straddles his lap and cries out as Karl moves their hands around both of them this time, his thumb rubbing the tips slowly but confidently. Chris wriggles, hips rolling and finding the right rhythm to buck into and against Karl. He looks for the caped lube lying on the mattress with a blind hand and squirts another large amount on them and their hands. Karl groans in approval, the vibration rich against Chris’ chest, and quickens the pace of Chris’ hand under his.

Chris goes with it. He has a brief, distant moment to wonder if the position isn’t uncomfortable for him—Karl is strong and bigger than him, sure, but Chris isn’t exactly a feather to have on him while he’s sitting on his haunches, thigh muscles taut with the movement of his hips—but then Karl just wipes the thought out, lips gliding over his again, rough and dirty, teeth prickling in their wake and is all Chris can do to shut his eyes completely and cling to his neck, tugging at the short hairs on Karl’s nape, fingers tightening every time it gets a little too much.

Karl’s hand gets lower, stops grasping his hip and pulling him in favor of finding better leverage on his ass, fingers spread wide and possessive. Chris bucks harder, utters his name in a breathy sigh that has Karl grunting and going faster and Chris follows suit, because that’s the only way to go, the only way for him.

His orgasm builds on everything; from the direct motions of their joined hands to the rolling of their hips, to their hot and slippery skin pressed together, to the noises they make both when they’re kissing and when they’re not, to the pinched expression on Karl’s face every time Chris opens his eyes and peeks at him only to find him wilder and stiffer each time.

He comes first and as he’s riding it out, hips jerking and mouth working on a silent moan, his hand keeps following Karl’s lead and moving frantically around them. He forces his eyes to stay open and sees Karl as he’s tripping over the edge too, hears and feels him groaning and panting his name like Chris is the one who deserves the praise for this. His legs seem to finally give out then and Chris has just barely enough presence of mind to lie down on the mattress and yank Karl with him so he can rest on him.

Karl mouths his shoulder and collarbone lazily and wetly, murmuring something that sounds suspiciously like _beautiful_ and holding part of his weight on his arms. There’s a sticky mess between them that Chris luckily can’t care about right now, not when it’s _Karl_ and Chris has him right where he wants him.

A couple of minutes later, he’s still panting and shuddering, goose bumps tingling all over his arms and legs.

Karl engages him in a sloppy kiss and they forget about cleaning up for long enough they both kind of regret it when they get around to it, but not really.

Chris can’t remember the last time sex was this good.

***

He comes to a hand mapping out his spine, going up and down and up again, palm cupping the curve of his ass every now and then over the sheets. He sighs and arches into the touch, kisses one of Karl’s pecs and uselessly tries to kick his brain into gear.

It takes him a few seconds to realize _The Middle_ is ringing progressively louder and then several more to remember that’s Zach calling.

He flails quite ungracefully for his phone, trying not to dig his elbows into Karl or hit him, but finally grasps it.

Even half asleep as he is, he’s aware Karl and he haven’t talked about this yet—about telling other people. Zach knows he’s visiting Karl because Chris told him but that’s about it. And he got quite the earful for his decision too.

 _You just love getting your heart broken over and over again_ , Zach had said. And Chris agreed, mostly to get him to shut up because no, he didn’t like that at all but he wasn’t about to tell Karl no either, he just couldn’t.

“Hey, Zach.”  
Zach tsks at him, sharp as ever. “ _Christopher. Did I just wake you up? It has to be almost noon over there._ ”

Chris yawns hugely, squinting at the time on the screen of his iPhone before replying. Karl is looking at him curiously and Chris stretches to give him a little peck on the lips that’s meant to be reassuring.

“So it is.”  
“ _Are you still at Karl’s place? How have you been holding up?_ ”  
“Yeah, I am. I’m going back to L.A. today at six. And I’m fine, really, I—“

Karl is doing little ‘gimme’ gestures with his free hand. Chris frowns at him.

“ _Chris, you are always ‘fine’. Talk to me, okay? You don’t have to bottle it up, it’s just not—_ “

He’s ridiculously slow this morning but he understands it eventually and hands Karl the phone, cutting a well-known speech from Zach.

“I can assure you Chris is really fine, Zach,” Karl says. Chris narrows his eyes at him. Karl looks like he’s about to make exactly the joke Chris thinks he will make but then he doesn’t and raises his eyebrows instead.

Chris can just imagine Zach’s yells , can just about hear them as well. He tries to take the phone back but Karl shakes his head, kisses his hairline briefly to keep listening to who knows what atrocities Zach is telling him while Chris groans and tries to render himself invisible hiding in Karl’s shoulder.

So that settles it. They’re telling people. Friends, at least.

***

Chris opens his mouth only to close it again. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t want to _go._

They can’t exactly kiss goodbye either. That makes it harder. He looks down, clenches his fists and tries to be cheerful and light but his mouth just won’t cooperate. _See you soon_ , he should be saying, _I’ll miss you_ , but he isn’t, he’s just too fucking busy swallowing up tears he doesn’t want to— _shouldn’t_ —shed at all because he has what he wanted, doesn’t he? And how can that still be not enough?

Karl reaches out to where he’s sitting in the car. Chris tenses, his composure hanging by a thread, but Karl only opens the glove compartment and is back on his own seat, no gentle and persistent touches that could send Chris spiraling out of control.

He extends a small envelope to him and closes his hand around what seems to be an Iron Man memory stick.

Chris takes it. He wants to laugh because Karl is such a geek, but he’s too sad. He just opens the envelope to see what’s inside and finds—a picture. A picture of them, together that day in the ice rink. Their first date.

It’s a close-up of them holding each other, eyes wide and smiles soft as they look at one another. Chris looks too pink—because of the cold or Karl or probably both—and Karl looks…

Karl looks in love. With _him_.

“The rest are here,” he says with a little grin, hanging Iron Man’s head around Chris’ neck, “That one is my favorite, though.”

Hope chirps timidly in Chris’ heart. It stirs and puffs out joyfully; a fledging, scrawny but lively little thing. Chris puts the picture away in his inner pocket with unsteady fingers, not quite processing what’s happening but understanding it changes _everything_ and that for him, the wait—the interminable, inexorable wait—and the pain—oh, all of it—are _over_.

 _I love you_ , Chris wants to say. He wants to hug him, to kiss him breathless right then and there, society be damned.

“Thank you,” is what he says, voice tight with emotion and a few treacherous tears spilling from his eyes that he wipes quickly, tempering them with a smile, “I love this, Karl.”

Karl seems about to say something, but catches himself. He catches himself too as his hand is mid-way to Chris’ cheek and it hovers between them for a second before lowering in a tight fist.

They don’t have much time left. Chris really needs to get going.

There’s a scowl on Karl’s face, he looks like he’d rather take Chris back home and try this long distance relationship thing later.

But he squeezes Chris’ hand briefly, feelingly and lets him go all the same. “Call me when you land, okay? I’ll see you soon, I promise.”

Chris wants to erase the scowl with his lips, wants to stay and hold and be held and forget about everything else. But putting this off will only make it worse, so he doesn’t.

“Okay. I’ll wait,” he promises back, hopping out of the car with his bag on his shoulder and a bright smile on his face, “See you.”

He puts on his sunglasses, wipes his cheeks again and takes a long, shuddering breath.

He’s not done crying—and for once that isn’t a bad thing because it’s from _joy_ this time and it will be the next time too—but his steps are light and easy as he walks into the airport after turning back to watch Karl leaving one last time.

***

He has so much to do once he’s back at his own house but he overlooks all of it to check the rest of the pictures.

And if he prints a few more, frames the one Karl gave him and puts it on his nightstand, if it turns into the new wallpaper of his laptop too and if he sniffles a little here and there when it hits him yet again that yes, this is happening, _they’re together_ and Karl _loves_ him, doesn’t even have to say it because he’s made a perfect job _showing_ it instead, well—Chris figures he has every right to be corny.

He’s in love and he’s loved back.

It can’t get any better than this.

***

“I had to tell mom,” Katie says guiltily the next time they see each other, “I’m sorry, Chris, but she was so worried about you that I had to. And she told dad.”

Chris exhales, controlling his breathing as he stops eating lunch, suddenly not hungry anymore.

He knew this would happen after the show he put in front of his parents that day. And they were so understanding and good to him, but that won’t make what he has to do any easier.

“I think they know,” he says, mostly talking aloud to himself, pushing a duchess potato around his plate, “Or they suspect it, at least. Papers are really helpful on that front. After you stop dating for a couple of weeks, they’re all betting you’re gay. And oh, look, turns out _I am._ ”  
“Brother,” Katie chides him, a stern look on her face, “Don’t get cynical with me. It’s okay if you don’t want to tell them you’re with him yet. I made them promise they wouldn’t push. It was kinda easy after they saw you last time. I just wanted you to know that they know that you’re—well, lovesick.“  
 _Lovesick_. That’s an appropriate word if he’s ever heard one. “Got it. Thanks.”

***

“So,” Chris starts, about to drop a potential bomb while skyping with Karl. It’s late and they’re both tired and they haven’t seen each other in 17 days—not that he’s counting—but Chris can’t keep quiet about it any longer, “My parents know how I feel about you.”

The video glitches for a moment and Karl’s dumbfounded face gets frozen on the screen. Chris can’t help laughing a little, even if in reality Karl just looked that way for like two seconds.

He sounds almost hopeful when he asks, the video fixing itself slowly and with some trouble so Chris also gets to see the accompanying expression perhaps longer than he should. “ _You told them?_ ”  
 _I should have, shouldn’t I?_ Chris looks down, gulps. “No, Katie did. I—I haven’t talked with them yet. I didn’t know what you wanted me to tell them.”  
Karl sighs. “ _Chris_ ,” he says and he’s being patient, he really is, but Chris winces. That didn’t come out as he was expecting at all, he didn’t want to sound so horribly needy and immature, “ _I can’t tell you what to tell them. That’s up to you. I can be there for you when you do, if you want me there, if you want them to know about us. They’re nice people and I know that you’re worried they won’t take this nicely despite of it, but why would they? You’re their son. They probably spent years picturing you with your own family, picturing grandchildren they would dote on and spoil. And they’re getting me instead._ ”

Chris has to bite his lip hard to avoid another ill-timed love confession to escape. _I love you_ , he almost says, _and there’s no reason you can’t be my family._

“Don’t talk like that,” he says instead, pleading, “Don’t make it sound like you’re a disappointment because you’re not. Not to me, Karl.”

Karl smiles at that, although the slight slump the subject brought on his shoulders—or rather, the way Chris is handling it, damn him and how he keeps screwing up—doesn’t go away.

“ _I know,_ ” Karl concedes, voice soft, “ _And you’re the one who matters to me. Talk to them when you’re ready. And when you do, there’s one thing I do want you to tell them; I’m not fooling around. I’m committed to you._ ”

It’s Chris’ turn to smile. He doesn’t seem to get tired of getting confirmation of Karl’s feelings for him. He doesn’t think he’s ever going to get enough of it, of _him_ , of _them._

He misses him already. He’s always had, in one way or another, but the taste of the longing is different now. It’s not bitter or raw, not hopeless or terrible. This one is sweet and exciting, pulling at his heartstrings in a promising, tough but tender way that Chris doesn’t feel like trying to escape from, not anymore, not ever.

He’s in love and it still hurts sometimes, it will keep hurting every now and then, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Karl loves him. That makes it worth it.

***

The talk with Chris’ parents goes better than they’re expecting. Sure, his dad still takes Karl aside to probably give him the ‘you hurt him and you’re a dead man’ speech but his mom hugs him and keeps feeding him until Karl makes a joke about it being Thanksgiving without him knowing and they’re _happy_ for him—truly not judgmental, not skeptical, not trying to give Chris pros and cons of what this could mean to his life, to his career. They just take one look at him and accept it and Chris is so lucky he can barely believe it but he does and he’s grateful for everything in a way that has him woozy and daring with joy.

He doesn’t think much—what is there to think? Karl is drowsy, full and content on the couch and he could do without watching a rerun of The Next Generation—before slipping to the floor and nudging Karl’s knees apart so he can look up and grin at him from between them.

“Chris,” Karl breathes, suddenly very awake and floundering for the remote to turn the TV off, “You don’t have to—“  
“But I want to,” he says, earnest, and stretches so he can kiss him while gripping his thighs, kneads the muscles there as Karl contradicts his own words and uses a bit too much teeth and tongue to convince Chris he’d be okay with just going to bed, “Don’t get too excited,” he chuckles lowly, licking his lips as his fingers prod. It’s really flattering Karl is already almost half-hard and that jams most of the nerves he can still feel through the excitement, through the need to please him and have him close after a long day of behaving instead of just getting their hands on each other like they wanted to, “First time blowjobs are hardly a thing to—“  
He gasps when Karl snatches him up again, cutting him off quite successfully with a long and heated kiss that has Chris’ chin damp with saliva already. “It’s going to be good,” he states in a growl, eyes boring into Chris’, making him pant harder, “And I don’t want you saying otherwise.”

Chris nods promptly, waiting until Karl’s stance has relaxed again to lower his gaze to the bulge in his pants. He unzips him with teasing and unhurried movements, pleased that his hands aren’t trembling, and gets him out after just a couple of fleeting touches though the fabric of his boxers. He’s too eager and still slightly paranoid about losing his nerve once he’s face to face with his mission—which is really a poor way to word what’s about to happen, but he can’t find it in him to care about that.

He almost expects Karl to give him some advice, but he remains quiet as Chris looks and nuzzles around Karl’s shaft, marveling at how it keeps growing even when he doesn’t do a thing to help except just being there. Karl’s breath stutters, hips threatening to thrust at the first coy sweep of Chris’ tongue on him but Chris doesn’t make a move to prevent him from doing it, simply digging his fingers on Karl’s thigh to tell him it’s perhaps too early for that.

Chris takes the base with his other hand and squeezes as he sets on getting him nice and wet from the tip. The smell is almost too much at first—musky and heady in ways he isn’t used to—and he’s not aiming to be teasing anymore but he needs to go slow, to give time to his nerves to loosen his mouth enough for what he’s about to do.

He licks his lips one last time before opening his mouth. He swallows around the head, not quite sucking yet, and looks up.

Karl groans and arches, getting more of himself inside Chris’ mouth, and swears as soon as Chris brings a little bit of tongue into it. He looks debauched and lost in it already and Chris sighs through his nose, tells himself that yeah, he can do this. He just needs to remember to be careful with his teeth and to go slow and he’ll be fine and Karl will—evidently, hopefully—like it too.

He stops himself every time he’s about to close his eyes and keeps going, starts sucking, fingers only just rolling Karl’s sack between them and cupping his balls every time he has to retreat a bit to catch his breath.

Karl’s hips shake as he struggles to keep still. Chris moans around him when Karl’s hand comes to rest on his shoulder and slowly creeps to his neck and then to his hair, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed but oh, he _is_ , and that gets him a little too wild for a moment, almost has Chris gagging at having his mouth too full.

His eyes are watering and he realizes Karl is as far as he’s going to go this time and it’s kind of off-putting, the fact Chris can’t manage to deep throat him—probably wouldn’t be able to even if he wasn’t so big—but Chris compensates with both of his hands and using his mouth and tongue as best as he can. He takes it as a good sign when Karl keeps swearing and opens his own shirt with a hand in a messy move without taking his eyes off him, a few buttons flying in the haste and roughness of it.

He ignores the pressure in his groin and sucks until his breath runs out, jerks what he can’t get in his mouth with firm and quickening movements. Karl’s hand in his hair tenses and jerks, his other hand traces Chris’ bottom lip stretched and dripping around him and he groans loudly, his hips finally losing control and moving in aborted, little thrusts.

Chris tightens his grip on him, blinks prickling tears off his eyes, and really hopes Karl is close because his jaw aches and he’s so out of breath he’s getting lightheaded.

And he is. He tugs at Chris’ hair, Chris’ name leaving his lips in a sound that’s half hiss and half rumble, and that should’ve been enough warning for him, but Chris misinterprets and sucks harder, only understanding what’s happening when Karl’s dick pulses in his mouth and he ends up with a throat filled with come. He coughs a little at first, then flat-out chokes when Karl’s erratic thrusts hit the back of his throat and it must be the least sexy way of ending a blowjob but Chris can barely get air in his lungs and he doesn’t exactly care about finesse in this particular moment.

Karl seizes him, getting him back on the couch and on his lap, completely overlooking the mess on Chris’ face and shirt. He pats his back gently even as his other hand is quite the opposite in unfastening his pants and getting him out of them. Chris is, surprisingly, still half-hard, and by the time Karl’s strong and fluid pumps have him fully hard again he’s finished sputtering and is only panting on his shoulder, eyes shut and mouth still wide open.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, face hot with embarrassment and exhaustion.

Karl twists his wrist and makes Chris cry out sharply. He forgets about apologizing in favor of gripping Karl’s other shoulder and grinding against him, back arching as he approaches his own climax fast.

“Now that’s more like it. And next time…” Karl whispers in his ear, bends his head enough to take his earlobe between his lips. Chris shivers almost violently against him and murmurs _yes_ even before he’s done talking, “Next time you just won’t apologize, because that was incredible.”

***

They’re talking on the phone a day before Chris goes to visit Karl in Auckland when a little voice interrupts Karl’s.

“ _Uncle Chris!_ ”it says cheerily, “ _Can’t you come over sooner? Daddy really misses you!_ ”

Chris smiles at Indie’s antics, guesses he’s just picked up another phone to listen in to their conversation and cut in when he deemed best.

He’s very relieved they weren’t saying anything unfit for a 9 year old’s ears.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can, buddy,” he promises, “Can you give your dad a big kiss for me? I’ll see you guys tomorrow, okay?”

Indie whoops in agreement and probably runs to do as Chris asked. Chris hears Karl’s muffled thanks before he’s back on the phone.

“Are you moping, Karl?” he teases, “You know that’s my job.”  
“ _That’s funny_ ,” Karl snorts, “ _Maybe I want to take over since you’ve been too long on it on your own. You know, to bring something fresh to it._ ”

Chris sighs, laughs a little under his breath. Trust Karl to turn a joke into something fond and heartening.

“Alright, you can mope. Just wait for me.”  
“ _I am,_ ” Karl declares warmly, “ _Always._ ”

 _Well_ , Chris thinks, ducking his head, a grin tugging insistently at the corners of his lips, _that makes two of us._


End file.
